


Turtle

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Babysitting, Ficlet, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregory tries to babysit Scorpius, who doesn't really make his job easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turtle

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Babysitting Scorpius is somewhere right between heaven and hell.

On the one hand, he’s insanely well behaved, and he never causes any trouble. He is, after all, far too old for this—he’s just graduated and is, by all wizarding standards, an adult, despite Draco’s insistence that Scorpius is his ‘darling baby boy.’ He does everything Gregory asks, and he never asks for anything extra. He even makes his own dinner (and some for Gregory) and does his own dishes after, even though Gregory could do it quicker and faster with a spell. Scorpius is old enough to use a wand freely, but _Malfoys_ have different rules (that Goyles, still with the Dark Mark but lower-profile, escaped). When they play chess in the living room, he’s very gracious about winning (a trait his father never shared) and he puts the board neatly away after. He doesn’t argue about the ridiculous bedtime his parents left, and when Gregory refuses to read him a bedtime story (partially because Scorpius is too old for that and partially because Gregory isn’t partial to reading) Scorpius doesn’t push the issue. He goes up to his room with Gregory trailing behind him, even though Gregory has no doubts that Scorpius will obediently go to bed whether or not he supervises.

On the other hand, Scorpius doesn’t seem to have any qualms about changing in front of Gregory. He slips out of his robes with entirely too much elegance and slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt without even turning around. He doesn’t ask Gregory to leave, and Gregory stays, horribly and inexplicably, frozen in the doorway. Scorpius bends forward and arches his back as he slips down his trousers, leaving him in nothing but briefs. He looks just like his father—a younger, more angelic version. The way he struts to his wardrobe with swaying hips and brimming confidence brings back memories Gregory’s spent years trying to forget. He has no better chance with Scorpius than he ever did with Draco, and this time it’s very, very _wrong._

Slytherins aren’t good with properly managing ‘right’ and ‘wrong.’ Scorpius pulls on an oversized t-shirt—definitely a hand-me-down from his father—and doesn’t bother with pajama bottoms. He looks over his shoulder with a bright innocence in his grey eyes, although Gregory is almost positive it’s put-on. “It’s too bad you won’t read to me, Uncle Gregory,” Scorpius drawls from across the room, slowly turning to step closer. The shirt just barely covers his crotch, and his lithe legs make Gregory almost salivate. The lights are off, but the curtains are open, and the light from the window washes beautifully over him. “...Perhaps if you just told me a bedtime story?”

Gregory shuts his open mouth stupidly, only to re-open it a moment later. “What...?” Sometimes he feels like a gorilla in the home of a god. His godson makes an adorable giggling sound at his idiocy.

“You don’t have to read it from a book. Just tell me a story. Any one will do.”

Gregory doesn’t know any stories. Scorpius reaches out to grab his hand, and Gregory’s head jerks downwards. Scorpius’ fingers look so small and delicate in his palm, and Gregory warps his large, calloused digits around them. Scorpius tugs him towards the large four-poster bed—Gregory just barely manages to shut the door behind himself. Draco isn’t due home for another several hours, but the idea that this is all _wrong_ and someone will _catch him_ is still all over Gregory’s spine.

Obviously, Scorpius doesn’t share these worries. He’s used to his father’s war-induced over-protection but slickly navigates it well. He tucks himself under the covers and throws the blankets over Gregory’s lap. Then he undoes the drawstrings on the nearest bedpost, so all the curtains fall down and in place. The canopy ceiling glows like the nighttime sky or a dancing set of faerie lights. The thin, silvery light it casts around them looks very surreal.

Scorpius snuggles right up to Gregory’s side. When Gregory leans back in the large array of pillows, Scorpius slinks down to his stomach, head right above his crotch. Scorpius rests one hand on Gregory’s inner thigh, and it’s entirely too close to be innocent. Gregory isn’t at all proud of the sizeable bulge he’s growing.

Clearing his throat, Gregory mutters, “You’re getting a bit old for this.” Which is ironic, because the problem is that he’s so very _young_.

“You’re never too old for bedtime stories,” Scorpius sighs. Then he looks up through his blond lashes, purring, “Daddy still tells me them, sometimes. ...You knew Daddy when you were little; why don’t you tell me a story about you and him?”

Gregory’s head is a wreck right now. When he thinks of Draco, all he can remember is the time in fifth year when Draco forgot to cast silencing spells and left his curtains open a crack, jerking off above the covers like a scene right out of Gregory’s fantasies. Or that time Gregory stayed with him after Quidditch practice and saw him shower afterwards, or the time in fourth year they went to Hogsmeade together and Draco bought a pink Popsicle...

Shuddering, Gregory tries to shake all that off. He tries desperately to think of something, anything, that he can say that won’t be, ‘I really wanted to fuck your father, and you’d be a lovely silver ribbon.’

Somehow he manages, “One time... we saw a turtle.”

And then he feels like a complete idiot. He knows he isn’t exactly a genius, but sometimes his lack of communication skills surprise even him. Fortunately, Scorpius is uncharacteristically kind. He just nods and asks, “Where was it?” He’s turned his face so that his cheek is against Gregory’s belly, and his warm breath ghosts over Gregory’s crotch. Scorpius’ eyes are closed; he looks utterly content, while Gregory’s a squirming mess.

“Er... in the pond around back.”

“At our manor?” Scorpius’ voice is soft, and he starts petting Gregory’s thigh while he talks. It’s both helpfully soothing and maddeningly distracting. On every couple strokes, those small fingers get too close to where Gregory’s cock is straining through the fabric. It would be so easy now to take out his cock and rub it all over Scorpius’ face. Scorpius is such a good boy; he’d probably oblige. He’s naturally subservient; he’d probably suck Gregory off in a heartbeat...

Gregory feels distinctly like a monster. He mumbles thickly, “Er... yeah. There was this turtle, and, um... a peacock tried to ride it.” Gregory’s going to have to start making stuff up now. He did see a peacock climb onto a turtle once, but there isn’t much more to the story than that. ...Unless he tells the part about Draco stripping down to kick his feet in the water, pale skin glistening under the hot summer sun...

Scorpius’ eyes flutter open, and he twists to look up at Gregory, hands stilling centimeters from Gregory’s hard cock. “Like... the peacock tried to have sex with it?” Gregory’s face goes completely red, and while he stutters to try and explains that _is not what he meant,_ Scorpius purrs, “That’s a little mismatched, although I suppose love should cross all boundaries... race, gender... age...”

“The turtle crawled out of the water up onto the grass right in the middle of a group of peacocks, and then it hid inside its shell and one of the peacocks tried to climb onto it, and the turtle got out and tried to walk again, but the peacock was too heavy and it sort of fell off, and Draco thought it was hilarious and started laughing really hard so I guess I just did too, because I usually do what he does, and then I picked up the turtle and put it back in the pond but not the peacock because... peacock’s don’t swim?” Gregory blurts all at once. He thinks he might be a tomato. A big, fat, red tomato, and Scorpius is just some tiny little seed that looks fucking hot in Draco’s too-big shirt, with a soft, pretty face and pink, plump lips that would look so good stretched around Gregory’s—

Gregory slides unceremoniously out from under Scorpius, slipping out of the curtains. Scorpius squeaks and falls into the mattress, blinking up at him and wondering aloud, “Where are you going?”

To have a cold shower until Scorpius’ parents get back. Instead he grunts, “Nowhere, bye.” 

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s out the door, down the corridor, and into the living room. Then he collapses, face-first, onto the sofa.

He’s going to hell in a handbasket. Scorpius seems to be selling cheap tickets; he isn’t such an angel, after all.


End file.
